


Eggs for breakfast and Italian for dinner

by dontthinkiwont



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Conversations, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, as happy as tma can get but it ends on an okay note, i miss him, nothing too insane just please be careful, that should be a tag, tim stoker is a good friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29059107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontthinkiwont/pseuds/dontthinkiwont
Summary: Jonathan Sims has an eating disorder.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 13
Kudos: 93





	Eggs for breakfast and Italian for dinner

**Author's Note:**

> HEY!! hi!! down here, the author speaking!!
> 
> i am recovering from an eating disorder. i actually recently had a breakthrough and am doing better than i have in years - that being said, i had to get some stuff out of my system.
> 
> this is a vent piece and pulled directly from my experiences. [CW: discussion of eating disorders and symptoms.] while i don't think it gets graphic (ie. depiction of purging, detailed descriptions, etc) please still be careful. the last thing i want is for something i wrote to make myself feel better to hurt someone else. fanfiction should make you happy, and if anything discussed thus far worries you please don't read this.
> 
> that being said - i feel better having wrote this. and i hope you enjoy reading it. thanks.

Jon had always been skinny.

This, of course, is relative, and highly dependent on height and weight and other features, but for all intents and purposes, Jon was skinny and always had been. He grew up with his grandmother pinching his albeit bony cheeks and telling him to eat more, which later morphed into his few friends and one girlfriend throwing him concerned glances when they thought he wasn't looking.

Jon had always been skinny.

So when he worked too hard and the day slipped away like sand between fingers and that time was spent entirely without eating, it was normal. He skipped meals, avoided snacks, and threw himself into work and when he got so dizzy at his desk that he had to put his head down until it passed, it was normal. That was how it had always been. It was him, stupid Jonny Sims and his inability to function properly. So when his knees buckled in the break room and his fingers were so numb he could barely feel where they bent uncomfortably, painfully, as he tried and failed to catch himself, it should have been normal.

When he was able to pull himself away from the ringing in his ears and all-consuming gnawing in his stomach that was somewhere between nausea and famine, he was immediately aware of how uncomfortably close he was to the floor and someone's corduroy pants. He let out something close to a grunt and propped himself up on shaking arms.

"- esus, Jon, are you alright? What the hell happened?"

Being able to process words did not inherently equal being able to form words of his own, and as such all of his energy was devoted to getting himself standing on his own two feet - which proved more difficult than he had initially estimated, having to fight his way to leaning heavily on the counter, forearms on the laminate and head between his hands, said position making him uncomfortably aware of the cold sweat he had broken into. He felt the tile beneath him sway and he struggled to keep his balance, and how he felt this with numb and freezing feet he had no idea. He slowly regained the auditory processing abilities he had lost on his way to the countertop, being greeted by hushed, worried platitudes about how he was okay and would be alright and maybe he should sit down on the couch and have a cup of tea?

Once more a grunt escaped his lips, embarrassingly close to a whine, and he lifted his head, knowing he only had a minute or so to go before he would be back to what counted as functioning.

"Are you alright? Do you need me to call 999?" came Tim's concerned voice from behind Martin, who was still fluttering around Jon's form as though he wasn't quite sure where to put his hands.

"N-no, that's quite alright, I just need a moment."

"Just - just a moment? Jon," Martin interjected, for a moment sounding more stern than Jon would have thought him capable of before sinking back into the fretful disposition they had all grown used to. "Let me make you a cup of tea. Please. And sit for a moment. Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm not, I just - this just happens sometimes. It's more embarrassing than anything."

He took a deep breath, drawing to his full height - however undaunting such a thing was - and clasping his hands together, attempting to appear amicable while subtly trying to rub feeling into them.

"I'm alright, much better now. I appreciate your concern, but I really must get back to work, I just came to get a glass of water."

"You don't have to be - it's not _embarrassing_ , Jon, and I doubt it should just happen -"

"Well, it does," he snapped at Tim, who merely raised an eyebrow while Martin jumped, lying in the proverbial line of fire.

"And it probably shouldn't. I'm going to ask you again, do you need a doctor?"

"No. I do not need a doctor."

Jon felt his face growing hot. He wasn't some child who needed to be coddled, and he had an archival program to get back to and his assistants were standing in front of him treating him like a mental case. This was highly inappropriate, and -

"When was the last time you ate, Jon?"

He looked up to see Martin's eyes filled with curiosity and a little sadness, the soft question sounding more like a statement or a question asked solely for confirmation rather than a genuine inquiry. He quickly looked away.

"I don't see how that's relevant, or, quite frankly, any of your business. I wasn't just - _joking_ when I said I had to get back to work."

Tim sighed, while Martin continued searching for - for - whatever he was looking for. Jon continued avoiding eye contact.

"Well, if you're going to continue to be an ass -"

"I am still your boss -"

"- an ass of a boss, we'll leave you alone. You're a grown man and it's your responsibility to take care of yourself."

Jon nodded enthusiastically.

"But that being said," Tim continued, tone now carefully measured, "We are your friends. I've known you for a long time and I see whatever this is weighing on you. You can come to me, or Martin, or Sasha, and there will be no judgement."

Jon's face grew hot again, and the curling ball of shame in his gut told him that that would never happen. He opened his mouth to respond, closed it again, and then let out a clipped, "Right."

Tim sighed again.

"You're our friend first, boss second. So if that's what's stopping you -"

"I - it's not. It's not, Tim." It was Jon's turn to sigh, searching for the words. "I - thank you. I know I don't - don't say it enough, but thank you."

Upon saying this, he looked at Martin and dipped his head, who mirrored this motion as his skin darkened with a subtle blush.

"I truly have to return to work."

"...Can you get back to your desk okay?" Martin asked quietly.

"Yes." Then, after a moment of genuine reflection, "Yes. I - thank you, Martin."

With that, Jon retreated to his office on shaky legs, struggling to leave behind the interaction he knew he would be thinking about for the rest of the day. His stomach had returned to its normal, subdued emptiness, leaving him levelheaded enough to return to sorting statements and recording those that needed it. And when Martin brought him toast and ginger tea rather than his typical lone black, he chose not to comment on it, and brought the half-eaten toast back to the break room when everyone had left.

-

It was him, and it was Daisy, and it was the all-crushing, air-stealing, lung-choking Buried dirt around them. More than that, it was her hand in his, and the ever-searching feeling in his gut that had replaced the gnawing emptiness that had marked his days up until this point.

Because there was no hunger in the Buried - no room for it. Only room for dirt, and dust, and organs that just barely served their purpose when they did not have room to perform their required tasks. And when they eventually clawed themselves out, fighting tooth and nail for every inch conquered in the Choke, that feeling crept back in, slowly and then all at once. Jon could not be sure whether he missed it or despised it.

He missed Tim. He missed Sasha. And by god he missed Martin, as selfish and terrible as that was, wanting with every bruised bone in his body to yank him away from whatever errands Lukas had him running and to carry him away to some countryside in the States. He missed having friends that didn't hurt him, and he missed having people who cared enough about him to notice when he hurt.

When they clawed their way out of the coffin, fighting for every inch conquered in the Buried, he walked past Martin's office, ignoring as the residing power leeched whatever remaining warmth Jon had in his limbs. He walked back to his office, and he ached.

-

"You look healthier now."

Jon looked at Martin, puzzled, becoming even more so when he saw his expression. Standing in contrast to their desolate surroundings, he looked harrowed, pleased, and on the verge of tears all at once. He looked like he wanted to hug Jon. He looked like he wanted to cry.

"...I'm not so sure I understand."

"I..." Martin sighed, crossing the short distance over to Jon and cupping his face in his hands.

Jon reached up, covering Martin's right hand with his own, still confused but entirely less displeased with the situation.

"You look healthier," he repeated, dropping a quick kiss right in-between his eyebrows. "Less...malnourished."

"...Oh."

They stood in silence for a couple moments, with Jon avoiding Martin's gaze like he hadn't done in months and an all-too familiar feeling of shame beginning to bloom deep in his gut that he wished was accompanied by some sort of hunger. He felt full, and like he would be sick.

"I can't - I can't talk about it," he choked out, choosing to directly address it in a roundabout way rather than deflect as he had so many times before.

Martin's brow furrowed, though not unkindly.

"Yes you can," he said, slowly. "You are right now. We are. That doesn't mean you have to, however - _important_ I believe communication to be."

Jon quirked an eyebrow at the last half of his sentence, causing Martin to drop his hands with a huff.

"...Which is very important indeed."

"Alright, _you,_ can it."

Jon grabbed his hand with his unblemished one, squeezing it once before leading them forward, through the Vast - fortunately, one of the more agreeable domains. When you weren't one of the people falling through the air unchecked, of course.

"I guess I just don't want to talk about it. It feels like I can't," he ventured after a few moments when he had decided that Martin was still waiting for him to continue the conversation. 

"...Have you ever?"

"Have I ever what?"

"Talked about it. Because it - it - forgive me, Jon, I think it's been happening for a long time. I'm trying to be sensitive, and I don't want you to be uncomfortable, but keeping something like this bottled up -"

"Yes, yes, alright, I know."

A few long seconds pass.

"...So?" A few more. _"Jon."_

"I'm sorry. I'm just - I'm finding words."

"Don't - don't apologize, Jon, if anything I'm sorry for forcing you."

"No, it's good. It's good. I agree that I need to."

Jon squirmed for a couple moments before coming to a stop, fully turning to Martin and releasing his hand.

"Does it look like - have I - I gained _weight?"_

"Oh, Jesus, Jon -"

"No, wait, hold on."

He thought for a moment, trying to decide how that possibility made him feel beyond incredibly, incomprehensibly scared. He settled on something.

"I think...I want someone, you, to look at me and see someone. Healthy. Who is here. I don't know if I've ever felt fully here, and not just wasting away. And I - I want to be able to look at myself, and see someone who - who - who loves themselves enough to enjoy things. I just wish I could have gone about it the right way."

Jon looked up, meeting Martin's gaze which had returned to that funny sort of expression that had triggered this conversation.

"I'm glad...that you can see that. At least a little bit. I just wish I could...enjoy it. Work through it. I want to be able to."

Something in Jon broke, and he bent over double, meeting at Martin's middle who instantly folded him into his arms.

"Oh, Jon..."

When he felt like he was able to continue speaking he did so, while most of his words traveled directly into Martin's jumper.

"I wish I was able to eat without feeling sick, and nauseous and - and guilty even though I - I - I want to enjoy things. I wish it didn't take the _fucking_ apocalypse for me to gain weight that makes me look slightly human, and I wish I didn't still feel _guilty_ about it."

Martin tutted, kissing the top of his head before pulling him back and swiping his thumbs over his cheekbones.

"Okay, love - you have always looked human. Regardless of whether you are human now," he said, pointedly ignoring Jon's indignant expression preceding this statement, "You have always looked human. Your body is your body, and - and extra weight or not, there is no reason whatsoever for you to feel any sort of shame about it. Your body is your body, and it's housing something very precious to me."

While he would later deny it, Jon made something akin to a keening noise and tried to force his head back into Martin's shoulder, who held him steady despite this.

"We are going to make it through this. And then we're - we're going to take our time, and we'll have eggs in the morning and - and Italian for dinner and you will feel nothing but proud of yourself and happy about who you are and how you look."

"I don't - I don't know if I can get there -"

"You can. You can. I've got you, Jon, it's okay," Martin, trailed off, finally allowing him to collapse into his body and be held.

**Author's Note:**

> i want to be able to eat full meals and feel good. i want to get there.
> 
> i hope you're all staying safe out there. i recently looked at myself and realized that i had gained weight but also when i saw that weight my immediate reaction was to see it as a sign that i was loving myself enough to allow myself to enjoy things. i'm still processing this. that being said, the last scene was honestly what i wrote this for. eating disorders are really complicated and really fuck with your head and i'm still recovering but just. there's a lot of good things out there for us. and we're gonna get there.
> 
> stay safe, and good luck with the series finale xoxo


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